


Light in the Dark

by Krystalmatsumiya



Series: Moments [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9398000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalmatsumiya/pseuds/Krystalmatsumiya
Summary: More fluffy moments with Sherlock and Lestrade...





	

Greg lay on his side beside his naked lover. Admiring the line of his back and the curve of his buttocks that was poking out of the sheet. His hair, as always, had obscured his face but Greg knew it as well as his own and liked it more. Sherlock wasn’t beautiful, his face was too bold and masculine for that word to be applied but he was delicate to meaning that he wasn’t truly handsome. Some people at the station said he looked more like an alien and couldn’t work out why somebody as intelligent as Molly could be so lost when it came to the rude man that constantly belittled her. As loath he was to admit it Greg could easily understand the feelings. He had shared them for the best part of five years now the only difference was that he was the one lucky enough to have his feelings returned no matter how much Sherlock denied it. 

A snuffling, whimpering sound broke from Sherlock’s nose and Greg lightly touched his back knowing that it wouldn’t wake his lover but would calm him from the dreams that haunted him. Many would assume that a man like Sherlock wouldn’t have bad dreams, wouldn’t be haunted by the nightmares he sought out day in and day out but Greg knew differently. He knew that the carefully measured drugs he kept hidden in an old tin under the bed served to drive the nightmares away when there was nothing else to stop them.

He knew that each and every case Sherlock helped on was a way of asking for vindication, or perhaps more likely forgiveness. Of what he wanted to be forgiven Greg had no clue, he’d asked Mycroft once. A stupid idea as the man had merely studied him down his nose as one might something on the bottom of one’s shoe and then hummed rather cryptically ‘Redbeard’. It wasn’t anything that he could go on and as much as he feared Sherlock’s older brother who had more power than the Queen he had wanted nothing more than to punch him in the beaky nose. 

Of course, he hadn’t been able to ask Sherlock about it so that meant leaving it and just accepting that he might never know what was going on in the many rooms that made-up Sherlock’s mind palace. Greg gave a sigh moving his hand up and down Sherlock’s back until the young consulting detective settled back into a regular, calm, sleep. His arms moved upwards to hug at his pillow and Greg tried hard to picture him as the same man who had casually accepted his death in a darkened swimming pool only a few hours before.

He had been fuming when he had found out more so since it hadn’t even been Sherlock that had called him. John had had been given that dubious honour telling him that Sherlock would have probably followed Jim Moriarty out of the swimming pool just for the thrill of it. Greg knew that it was the truth even though Sherlock had insisted that nothing could be further from his mind. The policeman sighed again rolling onto his back and putting a tired hand over his eyes. 

He might not know what nightmares haunted Sherlock’s dreams but he knew the ones that always haunted his own. They always involved him turning up at an impossible crime scene with Sherlock as the victim and then he seemed to spend the reminder of the night chasing ghosts in all black rooms. His wife had been keen on dream analysing at one point and although he had scoffed at the idea it didn’t take a genius to know what his dreams meant. 

Greg stiffed as a hand, soothing and yet nervous as though he were frightened he was doing it wrong, moved over the bed and came to rest gently on his hip. The fingers, long graceful, brushed over his hip bone and then upwards to his scar. He opened his eyes and looked at his lover with a smile noting that Sherlock was still pretending to be asleep. 

“…Sunshine, I know you’re awake so you might as well open your eyes…” He said slowly reaching out and pushing aside the mop of hair away and Sherlock’s eyes opened but his hand didn’t stop moving on his side. The motion, though unskilled, was like his own a few moments before and Greg couldn’t stop himself from asking; “What are you doing?”

“You appeared to be in distress I was hoping to offer you comfort…” Sherlock answered confusion reining supreme on his face as his fingers stalled in their movements “The same way that you do for me, if I was wrong I can stop…” 

“Don’t be a plonker, sunshine, it feels nice…I was just surprised…” Greg shrugged happy at the colour highlighting the proud features. “You appeared to be having bad dreams…” 

“...Although I believe that dreams can be a play back of audio and visual data I refuse to talk about them with you…” Sherlock huffed grumpily and Greg gave a shrug noting that the hand had started moving again very lightly caressing his scar. 

“So…What would you like to talk about? Why you went to that swimming pool without getting back-up? Why you wanted to play the game of a madman…?”

“Because it was fun…” Greg tried not to groan at the four words that he had heard a lot in the years of their relationship. ‘Why did you have tea with the Brixton poisoner Sherlock?’ ‘Because it was fun’ ‘Why did you chase after the Harrow Road strangler?’ ‘Because it was fun’. People often thought that it was the job that had given him his silver fox hair do but nothing could be further from the truth. His greyness had a name and that name was Sherlock Holmes. “I didn’t call you because I knew that you would talk me out of it…” 

“Too right I bloody would have…” 

“I was perfectly safe…” 

“You were almost blown sky high…” Greg reminded him and Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave a disinterested shrug as he closed his eyes again as he mumbled;

“The best part about myself was safe…” 

“What’s that meant to mean?”

“…You ask me what I dream? I dream of nothingness…Of the dark closing in all around me…And then I feel the touch of your hand…There is a light, always a light…” Sherlock breathed his voice raw with emotion and Greg realised that Sherlock was being honest with him. “…If you want the truth I don’t call you because you are the best of me…You should accept this with grace as I am never likely to say it again…”   
“Bloody idiot, Sunshine…” Greg chuckled settling back onto his said and allowing himself to bask in the unique beauty that was his own light in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that this is okay ^_^


End file.
